


Can You Believe It?

by thealphadog



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Angst, Coming of Age, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Multi, Swearing, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-01-20 01:11:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12421926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealphadog/pseuds/thealphadog
Summary: In a world of people so eager to grow up, some end up missing out on the biggest joys of childhood.Seems that childhood isn't prepared to leave you so easily when you just happen to bump into Jack Frost one night.This guy can't actually be real, though- right?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi guys! this is actually the second fic I've written surrounding ROTG. the first one I wrote was like five years ago haha. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this and stick around for the ride - I'm on a small hiatus with my An Unlikely Avenger series, so I'm testing the waters of my writing ability by starting a new project. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this! pls don't hesitate to give me feedback x

Nowadays, it seems everyone is in a hurry to grow up. Thirteen year olds are wearing full faces of make-up; eleven year olds are playing Mums and Dads; eighteen year olds are deciding what to do for the rest of their lives.

 

That is, all the eighteen year olds, except you.

 

Your indecisiveness was insufferable. What do you want for dinner? What do you want to do today? What do you want to do with your life? It was all pointless trying to figure out a solid answer. The one thing you’d fully agree to; winter was your favourite season of them all, and _Champagne Supernova_ by Oasis was your favourite song of all time.

 

Other than that, you were utterly and completely stuck in a realm of unmade decisions, had a large obsession with Marvel superheroes and the odd tendency to hide said fact that you had a large obsession with Marvel superheroes. Actually, make that an odd tendency to hide away _most_ of your loves that were deemed too ‘childish’; you didn’t need more people telling you that you needed to grow up.

 

In England, turning eighteen is like a rite of passage into adulthood. You can drink legally, you can work behind a bar, you can go out till late at night without your parents waiting up for you. You’re heading into a different level of life, finishing up sixth form and starting something completely new. Maybe you’d go to university? Maybe you’d sign up to an apprentice/internship?

 

“The world is your oyster! Go forth and live!” That was the last thing your English teacher ever said to you, before you left the mundane halls of your sixth form college for the last time and headed to the old, run-down train station that contained exactly one old, rotten wooden bench and a lady selling dehydrated, dying sunflowers.

 

One other thing that you had decided on? You were leaving this old, sad excuse for a town as fast as you could; and you knew exactly how you were going to do it-

 

“Auntie Sam said that she would be happy to accommodate me, mum. Please let me do this.” You sat at your kitchen table, dragging a fork unenthusiastically through a bowl of pasta. Your mother was a cold woman, someone that you truly didn’t want to cross. Her jaw was square and her lips were a straight line above her chin. In private, you would flick through the old family photo albums; in the eighties, your mother wanted to be an actress. Her hair was long and fell on her shoulders in delicate ringlets, the kind that you’d imagine came straight from a Jane Austen novel. Her eyes were the brightest of blues, and her face was never seen without a smile. Now?

 

That had all faded.

 

“I don’t know, (Y/N). It’s a big ask to put on her and the kids-,” Your mum stopped as she focused on the phone that you’d just shoved in her face, and watched as her eyes read over the conversation you’d had with your aunt the other day.

 

Let’s just say that your aunt reaaally wanted you to go to the states.

 

You watched as your mother gulped down her opinion, and simply nodded.

 

It was official; you were going to live in America; you were getting the hell out of that town where more people came to retire than to live; and you were beyond excited.

 

-

 

“Oh god, there she is!” Your aunt ran up towards you as you dragged your suitcase through the bustling Pennsylvania airport. Her face was warm and her cheeks were flushed, and you couldn’t help but smile as she embraced you in one of the largest hugs you’d had in a while. “Come on, come on, I don’t want to get stuck in this snow storm.” She grabbed your suitcase clumsily and started pacing it towards the short stay car park.

 

“Snow storm?” You furrowed your brows and tried to keep up with Sam, her small legs seeming not to conform to the laws of physics at all. Your eyes adjusted to the scene outside, and your insides somersaulted.

 

The coldest September on record had hit Pennsylvania, and one of the towns that had been hit the hardest was none other than Burgess, where your American cousins happened to live. You and your aunt made it back in one piece, navigating the icy roads with wide eyes and the largest desire to fling yourself to the ground as soon as the car stopped moving. Winter would always be your favourite time of year, no matter how old you got.

 

The cold, fresh air hit you like a ton of bricks as you opened the car door, stepping out onto the soft blanket of snow that covered every inch of the small town. It was bliss, and you let the snowflakes fall all over you and settle on your skin, burning and making you shiver at the same time. “You always did like snow. I always told your mom to move you guys out here with how excited you used to get around Christmas time.”

 

You scoffed. “I still get excited about Christmas, Sam.” She shrugged her shoulders and sighed.

 

“Not the way you did when you were five.”

 

It snowed all evening, and you watched the particles float down elegantly from the sky and land wherever they so pleased. Your cousins had grown since you’d last seen them, and they were fully into the stages of pre-teen. “Hey, Lib,” You poked your cousin on her shoulder and she brushed you off passively. “Do you remember when I told you about Jack Frost?”

 

She tapped her phone screen dully. “I was, like, seven.”

 

“You drew me a picture of him, remember that?” She turned her head towards you and stared at you blankly, as if you were insane.

 

“Like I said, I was seven.” You laughed at her, trying to break the ice somehow.

 

“You mean you don’t believe in him anymore?”

 

She raised her eyebrows at you and donned an amused smile. Behind her eyes, she was silently judging you. “Don’t tell me _you_ still believe in him, do you?” You sighed.

 

“Of course, I don’t. I’m all grown up.” Her face dropped back to the same blank stare.

 

“So am I. I guess Jack Frost doesn’t exist to us anymore, then.”

 

That’s when you took the decision to go for a walk. Your cousins were going through the annoying brat stage of their lives, and nothing was going to bring you down when you were surrounded by the most snow you’d ever seen in one place. Jet lag was making sure you weren’t going to sleep, so you thought you’d at least try to tire yourself out a little.

 

You slipped on your coat and pocketed the house key, saying a faint ‘bye’ to your cousins as they sat silently in the living room, staring at four inch screens. Burgess was beautiful, if they’d only take enough time to actually _look_ at what was right on their doorstep.

 

You kicked the snow playfully as you made your way around the small, quiet town. All the shops were closed by now, and the only light source came from the street lamps dotted up and down the streets and on the corner of every block.

 

As you looked up at the cloud covered sky, you thought back to the first time your dad had told you about Jack Frost. Sure, you knew about Santa, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, and all of those famous figures that made up such a large part of each child’s life. But Jack Frost; he was special to you growing up. None of your friends knew who he was, so you kept him a secret.

 

“He’s the guy that makes it snow, as cold as ice, yet as warm as the sun. You know last week when Mrs Hutch slipped over on the icy grass? That was Jack Frost.”

 

He’d infiltrated your life like a moth to a flame, and for the next few years, all you could think about was the mysterious bare footed boy that your father had told you countless stories about. The boy with white hair and blue robes, who wielded a staff of greatness and caused havoc wherever he went, who kept the fun alive in children.

 

Then, the snow stopped.

 

You were lucky if you saw snow for one day out of the year, and even then it would turn into slush as soon as it hit the ground. England had good things, like tea, and the Queen, but you never see tourists jetting to England because they love the weather conditions, now do you?

 

As soon as the snow left, so did any trace of Jack Frost in your mind. He was simply another childhood story, left alongside the crumbs of a half-munched mince pie on the fire place on Christmas Eve, or the cold side of a pound coin under your pillow after you’d lost another tooth. You’d been so eager to grow up that you’d forgotten what it felt like to be a child.

 

You’d forgotten how it felt to rub your eyes in the morning and see all the sleepy dust that the Sandman had placed there to give you a good dream.

 

You’d forgotten how it felt to finally find the last Easter egg hidden in your garden, or wake up knowing that you’d get to eat far too much chocolate for your own good.

 

You’d forgotten how the snow felt against your skin on a cold morning on the way to school, knowing that in a few hours the school would declare a snow day.

 

You swiped away the snow that sat, pristine, on a park bench, and slumped down, wrapping yourself up tightly in your coat. It wasn’t snowing anymore, but the way the air felt surrounding you was enough to make you dizzy with happiness. You shut your eyes and took in a deep breath, practically trying to absorb the snow around you. The quietness of Burgess was almost eerie, but not quite, thanks to the glinting snow that littered the ground and encased the town in a layer of marshmallow.

 

And then the moment ended.

 

You got up from the bench and made your way back through town, passing by the empty shop windows and seeing the town reflected. You stopped, and looked at yourself for a good minute.

 

Your face was thin and slender, shaped only by your hair that stopped just above your shoulders and cascaded down in scruffy waves. Your eyes stared back at you dully, drowned out by the snow that blinded everything, even in the low light of the night. That’s when your eyes caught sight of him;

 

Across the street, a guy strolled casually on the sidewalk, his feet crunching in and out of the snow. All he wore was a damn sweatshirt and short trousers; was this guy crazy? It was below freezing. You looked round and stared at him with curiosity as he dragged a long stick behind him, tracing lines in the snow and chuckling to himself as he went.

 

That’s when you noticed his shoes; or perhaps the absence of. He was walking around entirely bare foot, wearing nothing but a jumper. You furrowed your brows at him as he continued to walk through the town mundanely, but you didn’t want to wake up the next morning to a news story about some guy who was found frozen to death.

 

You crossed the street quickly, following the guy intently as he continued to stroll through Burgess in the dead of night. He hadn’t noticed you, as far as you could tell, and when you reached Sam’s house it was now or never-

 

“Hey!” You yelled, just loud enough for the stranger to hear. He stopped immediately on the path, but didn’t look round for a good few seconds. His eyes hit yours, but it was as if his face hadn’t fully registered that he was seeing you. You took a small step back, your mind starting to think that maybe you shouldn’t have shouted at the weird, bare foot guy, walking round town past midnight.

 

“You talkin’ to me?” His voice croaked out hesitantly, and you almost scoffed.

 

“Who else is around?” You laughed a little alongside the words as they tumbled from your shivering mouth. The guy stood up straight once more, but stayed standing where he was, his feet glued to the ground. You swallowed, and remembered why you’d even started talking to him. “I’d recommend putting on some shoes. You don’t wanna catch a cold.”

 

He blinked a few times, his eyes looking at you as if you were utterly crazy. He leaned against his weird, wooden stick, and crossed his legs, his face changing into something less odd; if anything, he looked like he’d seen a ghost. “Thanks.”

 

Then he simply swivelled on his heel and continued strolling through Burgess, his bare feet seeming un-phased by the sub-zero temperatures.

 

You scoffed to yourself as your eyes still followed him. ‘I thought Americans were supposed to be overly nice?’ you thought, as you tried your best to comprehend how this guy had just ignored every single word you’d spoken to him. Was he seriously just gonna keep walking in the freezing cold? You must have lost your mind completely.

 

“Hey! Wait,” You jogged closer to the guy, not registering that he could be dangerous in some way. You slipped off your coat when you were a few metres from him, and he watched as you swiped a few snowflakes off the hood, before dangling the jacket in between the two of you. He took a breath in, his eyes skimming over your face with curiosity and a mixture of shock.

 

“No, no, that’s OK.” He raised his hand up, politely declining your offer. You huffed, and slumped a little, trying not to shiver.

 

“Please take it, I don’t want you to freeze.” The guy chuckled to himself.

 

“You look like you’re about to turn into a cube of ice. If anyone needs it, you do. Besides, I don’t really feel the cold.” You squinted at him, looking at him up and down. His amused face let you silently judge his appearance up close.

 

“You look like you don’t feel anything at all.” His skin was as pale as the snow that laid on the ground beneath your feet, and his hair was the same colour. The only thing that properly stuck out about him were his eyes; they looked like the bluest sky you’d ever seen. He scoffed at your words, and melodramatically bowed in front of you.

 

“That is exactly the look I’m going for, thank you for noticing.” You laughed awkwardly at his confidence, and hugged your coat close to your chest. Whoever this guy was, he obviously didn’t need your help. You could live with that, knowing that you’d at least offered.

 

“OK then...” You took a few step back, slipping your coat back on and surveying his face once more. “I’m gonna go then. Don’t freeze.” You jogged clumsily back to the house, and let yourself inside quickly, urging every bone in your body not to look back.

 

You failed. As you went to shut the door, you peered down the sidewalk once more.

 

The street was completely deserted.

 

The guy was nowhere to be seen, his footprints on the ground already beginning to fade as it began snowing once more. You tried not to dwell on the odd meeting you’d just had, but as you lay in your bed, your eyes only just beginning to feel sleepy, all you could think about was how you hoped the mysterious guy lived somewhere close.

 

Maybe you’d bump into him again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so I'm trying out this really ANGST version of what I'd first imagined - 
> 
> everyone loves a bit of angst, don't they.
> 
> enjoy x

Your first week in Burgess had been pretty standard; helping Sam with her various errands; taking your cousins to and from school; exploring deeper into the outer parts of the town; and still nothing. The mysterious guy hadn’t been seen once. It was as if he’d disappeared off the face of the earth.

 

You sat, bored, in the living room, flicking through the TV channels. The news came up, and the headline was the same as the various others you’d seen –

 

_New York City bombarded with blizzard, many people left stranded at airports._

It seems that the snow storm hadn’t just hit Pennsylvania, but tons of other places around the states. It wasn’t even October yet; why was winter so adamant to arrive?

 

It was weird; since the snow storm had spread around other states, Burgess had been getting warmer with each passing day, the snow blanket turning into icy mush with every step that you took. The people of the town seemed to embrace the fact the snow was subsiding, but you weren’t happy at all.

 

Moving to the states was supposed to be an experience, a different place to live in before settling down somewhere. But so far, it had been a simple dream that had disappeared as soon as it had begun. “(Y/N), we could use some help in the bakery. I _know_ you don’t technically have a working Visa, but it’s not like it’s really that illegal.”

 

You furrowed your brows at your aunt. Well, it was totally illegal to work when you didn’t have a working Visa, but it’s not like it was really that big a deal to work in your aunt’s bakery for a few hours per day. “I’ll help out. It’s not like I’ve got much planned.” You smiled, and shot up from the couch, grabbing your jacket.

 

Sam’s bakery was only a two minute walk from the house, and was where most of Burgess bought their bread. Your aunt was somewhat of a baking whizz, and the locals loved her food. Lucky for you, it was an easy way to make a buck, especially when you didn’t exactly have much to buy. You’d thought about what the next few months would hold, and had decided that as soon as you had enough money you’d be headed straight to New York. For years, the bright lights of the concrete jungle had seemed to call out to you, offering a new outlook on your quite mundane life. The art community was bustling there, with theatre performances, art galleries and so forth – it was a breeding ground for the creative mind, and that was exactly what you were looking for.

 

Who needed heating when you were surrounded by bread ovens? No one. You found yourself perfectly happy at the bakery, and soon enough you were practically working there full time, filling in for employees that needed shifts off or couldn’t make it in.

 

News had spread about Sam’s English niece working in the town, and all the locals seemed to know you pretty well just from you working at the bakery.

 

“Wow! That’s one hell of an accent.”

 

“How exciting, being over here in the states, hm?”

 

“You look so much like Samantha, what a small world.”

 

Burgess was small, but it was nothing you weren’t used to, what with living back in that tiny town in England for your whole life. Days turned to weeks and weeks turned to months. The snow was hit and miss, coming and going as quickly as the leaves changed their colour on the trees, ready for Autumn.

 

It was only a matter of time before you truly thought about heading to New York, and your piggy bank was certainly waiting for some big splurge.

 

You stared out of the bakery windows as the sun began setting over Burgess, the shop completely empty. You were closing up shop, but there was still some hope inside of you that it would start snowing again soon. You’d counted the days since snowflakes had last fell on the town – fifteen days. It just wasn’t fair.

 

You shuffled to the back of the store, making sure all the ovens were off and locking the back entrance. Sam had been at home all day, caring for Lib in her flu stricken state. You loved your cousins, sure, but all of their creativity and general _fun_ had faded with their age. It made you think twice about the things you still loved, like superheroes, and certain books.

 

Like Jack Frost.

 

Being surrounded by so much snow, so much _winter_ – it had sparked something within you that you hadn’t felt in more than five years. The playful spirit of that Jack Frost, the being that had made you and your father so close to each other growing up. Had it really all faded just because of the shitty weather back in England?

 

Or had you simply grown out of it.

 

Grown out of the young mind-set that circulated around that playful boy, who’d brought a snowball fight to your front door with every visit, and made you excited to don your oversized winter coat, even if it wasn’t cold outside.

 

It was so foolish to dwell on the past, on the small childish things that you’d once believed in. You were eighteen, you were an adult, come on. Why were you even giving Jack Frost a second thought? He was just a childhood fantasy, a story that you were told before bed every night; he was nothing.

 

He wasn’t real.

 

You were shaken out of your thoughts by the bell jingling on the top of the entrance to the bakery, and you paced it to the front desk. “I’m sorry, but we’re closed –,”

 

You stared in awe as the mysterious man strolled through the shop, his feet still bare like the last time you’d seen him. In the light of the shop, you noticed him more; his hair was in fact completely white, and glistened under the yellow lamps like snow. His eyes were huge and blue, but even more vivid in the light. It was as if you were speechless at the sight of him, yet you’d already seen him up close before.

 

But it was different this time.

 

The snow had begun pelting outside, covering the streets in minutes.

 

“Don’t tell me you came all this way just to work in a bakery?” He looked at you amused, coming right up to the counter.

 

“How did you -,”

 

“You mean, how did I guess you came from somewhere else? Oh, if only you had an _accent_ of some kind.” You raised your eyebrows at him and his sarcasm. You could have sworn American’s weren’t supposed to be able to understand the language of the sarcastic.  

 

“Alright, smartarse. At least I know how to dress right for minus two degrees.”

 

He tsked. “See, you even said degrees, not Fahrenheit. You’re not doing yourself any favours here.” You took in a breath, trying to think of a witty reply, but nothing came out. The aura of this guy, the way he stood and spoke; it was so natural, yet he looked so unnatural.

 

What was he, Burgess’s token mad citizen?

 

You stared at him with an annoyed outlook. He seemed somewhat disconnected from the typical bustle of the town, the small community that did all the things a traditional small community would do. It was as if other people just didn’t see him at all. And you could almost understand why –

 

You traced his face in silence, not caring about the awkwardness that he was obviously feeling. His face – it looked oddly ageless, like he could be a twelve-year-old, or just turned thirty. You squinted at him oddly, without thinking about how you must look to him as you continued to stare so abruptly.

 

“How old are you?” The words had tumbled out of your mouth before your mind had registered what an odd and weirdly personal question you’d just bombarded this stranger with. You gasped slightly, in embarrassment at what you’d just said. “I – I’m sorry, god. It’s so unlike me to be nosy.” You busied yourself with locking the cash register as you tried to calm yourself down, you could already feel your cheeks going red.

 

He simply laughed, leaning on his staff. There were so many things you wanted to know about him – how he managed not to get frost bite on his feet; how he got his hair so white; why he carried round that damn staff with him – but with every question you thought up, your nosy confidence subsided along with the flushed neon red of your face as you calmed down once more. “I thought you’d at least like to know my name before you asked anything else.” You smiled at him a little, his confidence seeming to reassure you.

 

“You thought wrong, I guess.” You chuckled slightly as you wiped down the counter top, distracting yourself from asking any more embarrassing questions and refraining from looking directly in his eyes.

 

“Fine, I’ll go first,” He stood up straight once more, and strolled over to the counter, leaning on his elbows. You stopped wiping and took a small step back. “Your name is?”

 

You flicked your eyes at him quickly, before distracting yourself once more. “(Y/N).” He smiled widely, and you couldn’t help but wonder how someone had so much confidence in the face of a complete stranger.

 

“Well, (Y/N), it’s an honour.” It was strange; you’d met this guy twice, but every encounter you’d had with him had resulted in one thing –

 

Laughter.

 

You’d laughed when he’d bowed at you on the street. You’d laughed when he’d been snarky about your accent. And you were laughing now, as he stared at you with his big blue eyes, a grin etched on his face in some childish innocence, mixed with the confidence of someone who had known you your entire life. “What’s your name, then?” You slipped on your coat and switched off the back lights of the bakery, all the while he stood patiently on the shop floor, waiting for you to head towards the door.

 

When you did, he pulled it open, gesturing dramatically to the outside and bowing as if you were royalty. There you were again – laughing. You locked the door behind you, and turned to him once more, your eyebrows raised in anticipation. “Well?” You asked again, smiling a little wider.

 

He frowned a little and scratched his head, as if he wasn’t ready to tell you his name, for some reason. You saw the hesitation on his face as he thought about what to do. Surely telling you his name wasn’t that hard? “Ah – would you be freaked out if I said, that if I told you my name, you’d probably try to avoid me at all costs?” You frowned at him a little, trying to make sense of what the hell he was saying.

 

“What’s so bad about your name?” You furrowed your brows at him in confusion, but the hesitation and full on _uncomfortableness_ was covering all of his features. He tapped his staff on the ground a few times, and took in a deep breath, his eyes hitting yours with some sense of urgency.

 

“My name is Jack.” You scoffed at him, smiling again.

 

“What’s so wrong about Jack? You’re being overdramatic.” His gaze hadn’t shifted at all, and your stomach dropped as you saw the cogs working behind his eyes.

 

“No, no, I mean. My name is Jack – Frost.” You laughed awkwardly as you listened to his words. Was this guy being serious?

 

“Very funny – what, did Sam tell you about when I was a kid or something?” You wrapped yourself up tighter in your jacket as your gut coiled inside of you. He simply kept his face straight – there was no sign of a joke, or a laugh, in his stare. “What’s your real name then, hm?”

 

He sighed. “Jack Frost. That’s my name.”

 

You stared back at him as your face dropped. This was some kind of prank, some guy that Lib had set up to make you feel stupid about your old belief. You knew your cousins were oddly mean, but you didn’t think they’d go to this level.

 

This couldn’t be right, surly? I mean yeah, the blue jacket, the white hair and pale as snow skin, the bright blue eyes and bare feet that never seemed to freeze – it was all just an elaborate practical joke.

 

Except, it wasn’t funny.

 

At all.

 

“OK, great. I’m gonna leave now-,”

 

“No, please wait.” He lunged out and made a grab for your wrist, but stopped just before his skin was to touch yours. It was as if he’d seen a ghost again, as if he was afraid that when he touched you that you’d simply melt like the snow beneath your feet.

 

“Please stop.” You spoke loudly, and stood your ground. You hadn’t noticed when your eyes had begun to well up, tears threatening to fall down your cheeks. “I don’t know what this is,” the words tumbled out of your mouth in an almost whisper, the rage inside of you bubbling alongside all of the memories that you’d had as a kid.

 

The memories that, right now, you wished didn’t exist.

 

“But whatever this is, it isn’t funny, alright?” He furrowed his brows at you, as if he was sorry.

 

“I know, this may seem so weird. But please, hear me out,” He took a step back from you, staring at you with eyes that were simply praying for you to stick around. “I’ve never had to explain myself to an adult. Kids always believe more vividly, but with adults there’s always the added obstacle of denial.”

 

“Denial? What the hell are you trying to -,”

 

“I’m telling you the truth.” And his words were spoken so clearly and without hesitation. It was like he was actually telling the truth, like he was speaking and the words he was saying were all true, all real.

 

But that was impossible. The world wasn’t full of the people we believed in, it was simply full of the illusion of those beliefs. The belief that maybe one day you’d encounter them, but only if you kept believing.

 

And then of course, human nature kicks in. You need proof, evidence, that this belief is true, otherwise – what’s the damn point in believing in it at all?

 

You looked at him like he was an image on a screen, and spent time tracing your eyes over his clothes, his stance, his expression. Jack Frost had existed solely in your mind up until this moment, but as your eyes skimmed over him once more, your eyes couldn’t stop the tears from falling the floor and freezing upon impact.

 

His hair, as white as the snow on the ground.

 

His face, so innocent like a child’s, but full of so much mischief.

 

His staff, the one thing that gave him his power to wreak havoc upon unsuspecting adults, while planting fun inside children.

 

He didn’t feel the cold, and he was as warm as the sun.

 

“You’re acting like this because you want to believe that it’s not true,” You came back to reality. “Because you spent all that time waiting for me to show up and I never did.”

 

You frantically wiped away your tears, embarrassed suddenly by what he was saying. It was beyond childish to think that you’d been believing in this figure, this _myth,_ for the past five years of your life, even after the snow had disappeared. To think that in the back of your mind he was still there, alongside the deep hope that he was actually real, that he was just laughing from some place far away, watching as you stumbled around aimlessly waiting for him to show up at your window. “You never stopped believing – did you, (Y/N)?” He stepped forward, and that’s when you exploded.

 

“This is bullshit.” You wiped away the last of your tears and stared at him with so much anger that you didn’t know how you’d make it home without kicking something. He looked at you like he’d let you down.

 

It made you want to punch him squarely in the face.

 

“Stay – away from me.”

 

You didn’t look back as you almost slipped crossing the street; you didn’t stop to enjoy the snow that fell so calmly from the skies above. You didn’t say a word as you walked into the house, not stopping to take off your coat, but simply running upstairs like your life depended on it.

 

You chucked your coat on the floor and curled up on your bed fully clothed, not bothering to close your curtains or ponder what the hell your aunt or cousins must be thinking right now –thinking about what a weird person you were.

 

You didn’t even look out of the window, like you did most nights, trying to spot the moon in the big, clear skies of Pennsylvania. This time, you were too scared that you’d see him outside on the other side of the street, looking up through your window with this sad expectant expression, as if he was just _waiting_ for you to run back out the door and simply accept the fact that he was truly Jack Frost.

 

He’s not real.

 

Maybe he was when you were a kid, but the realness inside your head hadn’t been enough.

 

You didn’t even think about how, if it really was Jack Frost, your belief hadn’t been a waste of time, a waste of brain space – but had been real.

 

Growing up doesn’t just take away your old childhood beliefs – the ones you spent hours pondering over, imagining the way you’d meet your heroes, how they’d take you away from the harsh reality that you were enduring daily –

 

It takes away everything.

 

Even fun.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hey hey! I'm still trying to figure out a vague plot for this fic haha, but at least now we're starting to get it moving a bit faster.
> 
> I hope you've all been enjoying it so far!

You spent the entirety of the next day in bed, telling Sam you weren’t feeling well. “Hm, maybe you’re not used to the cold weather yet.” She placed her hand gently over your forehead in a motion that you hadn’t felt in over eight years, a motion that your mother had promptly refrained from doing in an attempt to make you mature faster. “I’ll bring you back some warm pastries tonight.” She left you, snug in your duvet, staring out of the ice stained window in some kind of foggy anticipation.

 

You had the house to yourself, but you were restless. You watched so many movies you lost count, and ate far too much food to distract yourself from being bored. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d stayed in the house all day, and now you remembered why; it was one of the most unentertaining things to do; to be stuck in a house all day.

 

Especially when you were trying to ignore the fact that the snow was now almost up to your knees outside.

 

Something inside of you hurt at the thought of that boy, sitting on some park bench, leaning on some street lamp, and looking at the snow flutter down mundanely, as if he’d seen it a thousand times before –

 

As if he’s the reason it was falling.

 

A text from Sam –

 

_Stranded after picking up the kids from school. Staying at a friend’s tonight and heading home tomorrow. Food in the fridge! X_

Of course, on the one day you could use your cousins’ meanness to remind you that it was in fact crazy to still believe in a mythical snowflake boy, they aren’t going to be home to constantly plant their judging seeds around you.

 

And you were at breaking point.

 

The snow was glistening cruelly outside, just waiting for you to open the front door. But you had a feeling deep in the pit of your stomach that he would be there waiting for you. And that was something you still weren’t ready to admit to yourself; that you still believed; that he was _real._

 

But your self-control had never been strong.

 

You peeked out of the living room window, glancing around the street until the window fogged up from your breath. It was deserted, just like that first night.

 

You hated yourself with every noise the front door made as you opened it, with every speck of snow that infiltrated the house and with every subtle kick you made to get it back outside. It wasn’t until you were halfway down the drive did you realise that you were wearing shorts; the snow melted as it touched your bare skin.

 

But you didn’t shiver.

 

Your socks were sodden as you stood on the partially shovelled sidewalk, and you hugged yourself as best you could. If anyone drove past now, they would think you were insane. Your long sleeves seemed to mould themselves to your body in some attempt to stop the wind from eating you up. Snowflakes settled on your hair, your shoulders, everywhere; but they were slowly easing up, the sky seeming to have run out.

 

And then that familiar crunching noise came up from behind you, and you whipped your head round as fast as possible. The wind bombarded into your body, and you stumbled backwards;

 

No one was there.

 

The air seemed to settle around you like some kind of mass, it was as if it had a physical body. It pulled and pushed you gently, and you found yourself needing to know why.

 

So you followed it, you followed the subtle pull of the air down the sidewalk, leading you deeper around the streets of Burgess. You ignored the pins and needles in your frozen toes, and the forceful shudders that rang through you with each step. Your instincts were in full control, and every time the wind moved your stomach would lurch in its direction, as if a hand was dragging you along the icy streets.

 

You reached downtown, a place you hadn’t fully explored. The moon was your only light source around here, the street lamps having begun to fizzle out as you reached the more sparsely populated areas of town.

 

Round the corner, a loud clang sounded – you jumped backwards out of your skin as your breath coiled itself around your face like smoke. “Gah!” He stumbled round, hopping on one leg and scratching his head uncomfortably. “Jeez – wanna calm down a bit?”

 

Was he talking to you?

 

You stood in awe as another figure rounded the corner, headed straight for.. Jack? It would just be easier to call him that, probably. “You’re screwing up everything in this poor, sad excuse for a town. Again with all this bloody snow? Can’t you just give it a rest, mate?” The other figure? Yeah, definitely not human.

 

You tried to form words in your mind as you saw the two of them fighting each other – the boy in blue and his... kangaroo friend? You scanned the furry person and tried to figure out what the hell you were seeing, and how you’d even come across this situation. On his back, two boomerangs were strapped tightly. There were smaller pockets too – one of which holding an array of paintbrushes.

 

In his hand, he held one, hard-boiled egg. Despite the fight he was in the middle of, his.. paw? Was still wrapped tightly around the egg, not letting it go from his grip.

 

Whatever you’d stumbled upon, you knew that you were being invasive. You kicked yourself at the fact you’d left the house so easily and been so simply lead around the town to come across these two – how the wind had just _known_ that you would follow. It was almost laughable. “Come on! Just because _you_ aren’t a big fan of the cold doesn’t mean the kids here don’t love it, Bunny-,”

 

“Bunny?” The two of them stopped still as you yelled at them, stepping forward without thinking about anything. “As in- the fucking Easter Bunny?” You stared at Jack as his eyes scanned you in shock. Bunny looked the same, his eyes tracing you up and down, utterly stunned.

 

Jack and Bunny looked at each other quickly, then back to you. The cold feeling had disappeared from your body as you stepped closer to the two of them, your tether truly coming to its inevitable end.

 

Jack Frost and the fucking Easter Bunny?

 

This wasn’t possible; this was, in fact, impossible.

 

“(Y/N)-,” You raised your hand to Jack as he began to speak, but instead of asking about the human Bunny standing in front of you, you were taken aback suddenly.

 

“Did you lead me here? In some kind of – attempt – to make me believe?” Bunny scoffed, and you furrowed your brows at him.

 

“An _attempt_ to make you believe? Mate, do you not get it? You obviously already believe if you can see us.” The two of them parted from each other, standing, amused, as you tried not to cry in front of them. Even the fucking Easter Bunny was laughing at the fact you still believed. You breathed deeply, your thoughts racing as you tried to focus on something else; something other than the two weirdly dressed people in front of you; one of which was obviously a fan of Halloween costumes.

 

“I’ve gone insane. I’ve finally turned – completely mental.” You whispered, and smiled to yourself as your hands gripped the top of your head, pulling at your hair in some attempt to remove your craziness. “I’m full on hallucinating. I was full on – speaking to someone who wasn’t there the other day.” Jack and Bunny stared at you, their faces contorting into ones full of concern.

 

Bunny came towards you as you had your small breakdown, his feet patting against the floor so loudly that you wondered _how the hell they weren’t real_. “Listen, (Y/N), is it?” You nodded at the ground. “Look... you’re the oldest believer I’ve ever come across, and I’ve been doing this for a fair few years.” You raised your head at him, scanning his face close up. His expression was kind, gentle, and you found yourself calming down slightly despite the storm of confusion that was raging inside of you. “We’re strictly, not allowed to show people this, but you’re a damn good exception.”

 

“Show me what?” Bunny turned to Jack, a smile plastered over his face. Jack strolled forward, leaning on his staff, his face flushed with a soft kind of expression; not quite a smile; yet full of excitement.

 

That’s when Jack stuck out his hand towards you gently, your eyes flicking to his fingers and question marks covering your mind. “Proof.”

 

There is a time in life when you have to ask yourself some crucial questions;

 

If I had gone with the crazy stranger and his pet bunny to wherever the hell they were going, would my life be better?

 

What does the hand of an ice boy feel like?

 

Why does the Easter Bunny need boomerangs?

 

But you simply settled for one;

 

Do I, or do I not take Jack Frost’s hand in mine, and follow him to somewhere new?

 

The answer – always –

 

Is hell yes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys!! im so sorrrrrry this has taken me forever to update - I've been super busy these past few months, plus ive been focusing on getting part 2 of 'An Unlikely Avenger' up and going, too. 
> 
> Im super happy ive managed to get back to this, though, and I hope you guys will still read it!!
> 
> I hope your Christmas was grand, and have a happy 2018!
> 
> enjoy x

His hand felt almost fake, but nevertheless you took it in yours. He pulled you gently towards the two of them in some trial to see if you were really touching him, really feeling him standing in front of you.

 

His eyes remained uncertain even when the three of you had been walking for over ten minutes. It was as if he was scared you’d suddenly become a ghost, become someone who was no more. “How old are you, girl?” Bunny spoke, picking at something in his teeth.

 

“Eighteen.” You gulped, taking in his appearance for the umpteenth time and wondering how the hell he was a real thing. Bunny whistled, extending the note until it rang in your ears uncomfortably. “Where are we going? We’ve been walking for a while in the same direction.” You tried to keep your voice steady as they kept walking, small smiles plastered on their faces in mischievous amusement. 

 

“Oh, you’ll see.” Bunny winked at Jack, and Jack turned to you as you hesitated away from them both.

 

“OK, that’s the type of shit a damn serial killer would say,” Jack scoffed and stuck his icy hands in his pockets, elbowing Bunny in his ribs as punishment. 

 

“It’s difficult to explain to someone like... you.” 

 

“Someone like me?” Jack raised his eyebrows at you.

 

“An adult.” You were taken aback. An adult? Sure, you were eighteen, but it seemed weird that to others you were seen as someone grown up, someone who was classed as an adult. You muttered a small “Oh,” and straightened yourself out in some attempt to project your confidence over the two of them. You crossed your arms and waited; you weren’t going anywhere until you knew where they were taking you.

 

Bunny raised his paws in mock defeat. “Fine. In simple terms, we’re going to the North Pole.” 

 

“The- North Pole-,” You stuttered it out, almost choking on your words. You held your forehead in your hands, shoving your hair back off your face. Was this all real? Was this really happening? 

 

Or was it a play on a distant memory -

 

Your father switched off your bedside light, and your ceiling shone a neon blue as the two of you stared at the glow in the dark snowflakes that were glued to the walls; the door; the ceiling; the entire room. 

 

“When did you first meet Jack Frost?” You whispered to him, and he smiled, holding you closer to him. 

 

“I was almost ten, and it was around Easter time. Sam was six or so-,”

 

“Has she met him too?” You asked, and he chuckled.

 

“She got into so much mischief, you know. Got lost in Bunny’s den. Jack told me they came across her while everything was going on- all the Pitch Black stuff,” He shuffled up from your bed and you laid down properly. “Though back then, Auntie Sam went by Sophie.” 

 

“Why did she change her name?” 

 

“She was always different like that- she wanted to put her mark on everything-,”

 

“Come on, Jamie,” your mother poked her head around the door frame, a small smile on her face. “It’s time for this munchkin to dream about Jack Frost and his adventures.”

 

The fond memories of your dad telling your stories of Jack Frost, of all of them, circled through your mind. But then your walls went up, and your face went blank, and you could hear the blood coursing through your body. Because –

 

Two months after your fifteenth birthday, your father was hit by a high-speed train. 

 

And not even Jack Frost could have fixed that.

 

“The North Pole,” Jack repeated. You stared at him with wide eyes in some attempt to forget all this was happening, in some attempt to get yourself to turn your freezing body around and head back to the empty house. You had no idea whether your dad had told you the truth; if he’d actually met Jack Frost.

 

But his stories – they all sounded so real; so true.

 

The years you’d spent, dwelling on the fact that his stories had died along with him –

 

The stories were still alive, even if he wasn’t.  

 

A wave of realisation hit you, suddenly.

 

If your father had been right about everything, about all the stories, the adventures, the excitement; then going with Jack and Bunny wouldn’t just mean a quick trip to the North Pole –

 

It would mean answers.

 

And you’d been needing answers for more than three and a half years.

 

-

 

The three of you stopped at a gas station, way outside of Burgess. It was dark and dank, the air smelt like petrol, and now you were all too self-conscious about the fact you were wearing shorts and a pyjama top, with only large socks on your feet.

 

You scoffed at the crumbling building in front of you. “Wow, the North Pole is looking _fresh._ ”

 

“Very funny,” Bunny muttered, hopping over to stand directly in front of you. Jack grinned mischievously, and your face dropped.

 

“What’s going on? Why’re we-,” Before you could finish, Bunny bashed his foot against the crumbling concrete of the gas station floor; a pit opened up as soon as he took his foot away. You tried not to squeal as you looked right down into the abyss – it just kept going. The tunnel looked grassy, and a few flowers were sprouting from the circular walls.

 

You glanced back up at Jack and Bunny in turn, their faces the exact same expression; mischievous. That’s when it clicked –

 

“No-,” You spoke, but it was too late.

 

In one motion, Jack had pushed you straight down the tunnel, your yells and screams of fear disappearing the further you travelled down through it.

 

You felt like Alice when she fell down the rabbit hole; it was dark, but still partially lit inside; you saw remnants of paints; paint brushes; eggshells; it was truly like falling into Wonderland. Though you had no idea whether this tunnel actually had an end.

 

The happy chants of Jack echoed from behind you in the tunnel, and suddenly he was bombarding into you, the two of you trying to steady one another; grabbing onto each other for dear life. You hadn’t stopped screaming since you’d been pushed down the tunnel, but being so close to Jack’s laughter, his yells of happiness and fun; those screams all but disappeared; replaced by uncontrollable laughter.

 

Suddenly, a light opened up a little-ways in front of you, and the breath got hitched in your throat. The laughter faded as you and Jack were spat out of the tunnel and landed with a thump on a very soft red, embroidered rug, your eyes intentionally trying to avoid looking up at anything.

 

“Hey,” Jack said, and you made yourself look at him. He loomed above you, his hand stuck out for you to take. You grabbed it in yours and he hoisted you up strongly, and what you saw was more than you could have ever imagined –

 

You were stood in a giant room, made up of several floors, all circular, all able to see what stood proudly in the very centre of the hall; a giant globe, covered in flashing lights. Some shimmered strongly, and occasionally one would go out, or a new one would pop up. Above your head was an open roof, the light flooding in beautifully and casting sunshine all over the wooden beams of the interior.

 

You were no architect, but if you were, you were sure you’d be weeping on the floor right now.

 

It was magnificent; but it was too much to take in. Was this really the North Pole?

 

“I – um, I – wow,” That was all you could get out, the words getting stuck on your tongue.

 

“God, I always love seeing people’s reactions to this place,” You swivelled around suddenly as a deep voice cut through the air, and once again you were left speechless. The man loomed in front of you, his body massive and covered in tattoos; a large white beard covered his chin; and he wore red overalls.

 

But his aura, his feeling – he felt like the jolliest man in the entire world.

 

From looks, he could obviously snap you like a damn toothpick if he wanted to. But something inside of you knew he would never harm someone unless completely necessary. That, in fact, he chose to protect people instead of fighting.

 

“ _Santa_ –,” You stuttered out, and the whole room burst into laughter. You could feel your face going red, and you watched as the large man’s face chuckled loudly.

 

“I also love it when people call _me_ that. The story of how I got that name is such a classic-,”

 

“You’d had too many eggnogs that day,” Bunny interjected, and the two of them embraced suddenly. You were taken aback completely; how was this real? There you were, stood at the North Pole with none other than Jack Frost, the Easter Bunny and Santa.

 

You stood in silence as the two of them caught up, your eyes dipping in and out of focus of what the hell you were actually seeing.

 

“You alright, (Y/N)?” Jack placed his hand on your shoulder and you came back to reality; this was truly reality, right? You nodded at him quickly, your eyes still distant.

 

“Yeah – just, getting to terms with,” you gestured to the whole room. “ _All this_ ,”

 

All this – it had been in the back of your mind your entire life. The moment of happiness you’d imagined over and over again at meeting these people, these myths, these legends. How many dreams had you had as a child that included these guys? There were too many to count.

 

The stories, the memories, that your dad had told you about every night – that you’d believed for all this time, even if there was something in the back of your mind poking at you and telling you it was lies – it was all true. He’d been telling you the truth.

 

Would they remember him? After all this time, would they still know his name?

 

And Auntie Sam – Auntie _Sophie_ – she was involved, too.

 

Your head spun uncontrollably as all of this dawned on you. That your dad’s legacy in your mind hadn’t been fake, that he’d been one hundred percent honest with you, even at age five. That on that cold morning, he hadn’t seen the ice on the train platform – and he’d gone straight over onto the tracks, just as a train was zooming past.

 

Did they know he was gone? Had they mourned for him? Or had he just been another child in their lives that they’d forget.

 

Your chest burned as your mind went into overdrive. This wasn’t happening, this wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. That’s when you knew you were having a panic attack, the anxiety forcing its way into your lungs and sucking up any air you had left.

 

Your head hit the red, embroidered rug once more.

 

And all you saw was black.

 


End file.
